


Drawing Lines

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer was doing what Sam did when someone got too close to home: close up and become hostile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawing Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Combination of two prompts/ideas: [Sam in lingerie](http://fuckyeahlucifersupernatural.tumblr.com/post/24982074996) and Lucifer's forked tongue.

He didn’t know what he did to get Sam like this. Maybe they really were kindred spirits, but even than there is a vile sort of twang in his system at the thought that a human understood him. Even though Sam Winchester was the chosen vessel, he was still remarkably human with his thick thighs of muscles and fast-pumping blood through his veins. Maybe he broke him. Maybe Lucifer truly did break Sam Winchester and there was no point resisting him anymore, because it was all rather moot, wasn’t it? He would win. 

Even engaging in physical acts was silly, but it’s a show and play of dominance, and who was Lucifer to pass up the chance to show that he was the boss. That he was the Alpha and the Omega. Had a nice ring to it and it made him sickeningly hot -- power always did that to his icy frame. He took great pleasure in the knowledge that Sam now came to him instead of flirting up the damsel in intoxicated distress at the local bar.

Cold blue eyes watches Sam struggle, face beautifully flushed along with his chest, huffing in distress. He’s on his haunches on the bed, arms pulled back behind him as he’s attempting to undo a bra on his wide chest. Sharp hipbones and bulk are keeping the polka dotted G-string remaining on Sam’s frame. The material is sheer and dark, able for Lucifer to see Sam’s length, already half-hard thanks to Lucifer’s diligent staring. It’s the bra that’s giving Sam issues, already strained and fraying from the accumulation of Lucifer having previously yanked Sam by it onto the bed forcefully.

The Winchester growls in dismay, fighting and biting his bottom lip as he struggles to undo the shear and flimsy bra. “I can’t get to the stupid clippy thing,” he complains and Lucifer just smiles and makes a turning gesture with his index finger. Sam’s jaw is rigid but he does what he’s told in the end, shifting on his knees until his back is facing the Devil. 

Sam’s ten seconds close to protesting when he feels fingers not even attempt to go near the latch to the bra, instead memorizing the dip of his lower back. Sam’s so far gone. Dean’s death and not knowing if he was in Hell, Heaven or nothing, left him empty. Sam dealt with loneliness and loss through throwing himself in his work. However, hunting monsters and demons is becoming a dying occupation, because demons kept to themselves these days and monsters were in hiding. The point was that his work was becoming useless and it already was without anyone to share it with. Sam’s been on his own, but this is different. 

Loneliness brought back Lucifer and it was not the same Lucifer who taunted and teased him like a ravenous hyena. This one he knew. This one sighed and folded his hands before him, pale shades of blue staring at him with quiet concern. “Let’s put this fighting to rest. I’m all you have left.” It’s the old Lucifer with his articulate self who rather use words and kindness to break you first before using his hands. It’s familiar and Sam lets him in, not even bothering to wonder if this is real or another illusion of his. 

Sam used to press and prod at the scar on his palm, but the habit was snuffed when Lucifer took his palm and kissed the faded mark. 

It was Lucifer’s way of saying that he was solid and real. He was permanent. At least to Sam. 

“Lucifer...” Sam huffs and he feels Lucifer’s cold breath hit the nape of his neck, feeling Lucifer’s knees sink into the mattress as he drew closer. “The clippy...thing...” he struggles to remain rather serious about this, but for the life of him he has no idea what is the actual name for it. A hook? Latch? Clip? Clever fingers are tracing his spinal column and that’s how it always begins. Lucifer begins by memorizing every inch of his skin with his fingers, and Sam knew it was because Lucifer was assessing what would later on be his. It should bother Sam, but Sam learned to ignore it and enjoy the worship from the Devil’s hands. 

“The clippy thing?” Lucifer repeats with a low chuckle, moving his mouth so his teeth could pull at one of straps of the bra. A sharp crack of the strap snapping back onto Sam’s shoulder when Lucifer released it, made Sam hiss and pout. “I must admit, I’m disappointed I didn’t get to see you put it on.” Lucifer can feel Sam’s embarrassment radiate off of him, grumbling darkly and coming to terms that Lucifer was not going to help him take it off. The Devil smirks and nothing more, gaze traveling downward to gaze at the back of the G-string, fingers reaching down to thumb the tiny black bow sitting neatly in the back above the crack of Sam’s backside. 

“Lay down on your back for me.” 

Lucifer drew his hands back, sitting expectantly, watching Sam do as he’s told. Dean’s been back for a few weeks now and Sam has done nothing to alter their relationship save for keeping the Devil a secret. Lucifer comes as he pleases but it’s usually Sam, now, who calls upon him. Sometimes Sam gazes at him in surprise, caught off guard that an angel has finally listened to his prayer and came to him. The Winchester is so used to Dean being the one to call upon an angel -- like Castiel -- and appearing in a heartbeat while his own calls go rather unacknowledged. 

It’s a soothing balm to an abandonment issue and a dangerous drug to fuel an addiction. 

Sam’s not worried. Until they’re guzzling down demon blood and fucking each other in their own mess will he acknowledge that there’s a problem. But this...this is nice. This keeps his mind off questions he doesn’t want to know the answer to. This makes him feel wanted.

Sprawled on his back, the shorter blond crawls over him and drags his nails across the bare abdomen underneath him. Sam’s stomach sucks in and flutters. Lucifer likes the way Sam feels underneath him, stretched out with his long legs and arms, chest rising and falling unevenly. Lucifer enjoys tracing the veins on his arms, marveling in the fragility and the purpose. Of how easy he could puncture them. Bruise them. Tear them with his teeth. Sam sighs and stretches, enjoying the way icy fingers now drift low to trace the veins on his legs. He could fall asleep like this. 

The Winchester watches with lidded eyes the blond bend down and suck on the inside of his left thigh, Sam giving a breathless sound in anticipation. The blue-eyed angel busied himself sucking on Sam’s skin until it’s angry and red, threatening to be a bruise when all is done. Moving his mouth closer, he nipped at the inseam of his thighs, nose brushing against the sheer fabric of Sam’s lingerie. It’s impressive in itself that Sam’s able to tuck himself into the material, drawing Lucifer’s attention away from Sam’s thighs. 

A lone finger traces the visible image of Sam’s length from the underside, the Winchester’s long legs shifting and hips wriggling against the comforter in a sign of struggling patience. The Devil remains methodical and slow in his actions. Lucifer rubs and massages Sam’s pinned scrotum, hearing him suck in the air around him before giving an encouraged groan. 

“I have a question,” the blond smiles and Sam stares incredulously at the cool, calm and collected Devil who is busy palming his erection. 

Sam gives a strained sound, “Now?” 

“Now,” the devil affirms, “When did you buy this? Or did you borrow this from big brother?” Sam turned a bright shade of red, snarling and huffing in indignation as Lucifer seemed rather pleased with himself. This was what separated and connected his hallucination of Lucifer and the actual angel himself from each other. The hallucination made jibes and jokes at a near constant basis to the point of annoyance while the real one only doled it out when everything is going his way. Sam doesn’t know how to answer the second one, he never knows how. He was far too embarrassed to admit he went out and picked it. It all felt like he was picking something special up to please his “lover” for the weekend. It felt normal. Human. 

Sam twists and growls, gritting out through his teeth with all the venom he could muster with someone massaging the base of his arousal. “Not everything my brother does involves lingerie,” was the clever thing leaving Sam’s mouth. Lucifer simply cocked his head, squinted and shook his head in a sign he hardly believed that. Sam was torn between giving a choked laugh in defeat or muttering out loud how much of an ass Lucifer is. Sam chose the second option for the sake of his pride. 

Lucifer moves forward to lean down, pressing his mouth against Sam’s frowning lips. “I like it,” is the only reassurance that’ll ever leave the Devil for the day. Laying a simple kiss, Sam caves in immediately and responds eagerly. Any doubts about today has been dispelled like that and Sam wonders when he became such a sucker for approval from a higher power. 

Fingers grip Sam’s length through the fabric, feeling the hunter’s body stiffen entirely before he’s pumping his vessel. He works him in a slow stupor, but his grip is firm, Sam twitching and rocking his hips upward into Lucifer’s grip, mouth sliding off of Lucifer’s. Sam can feel his heart beating violently in his throat and pelvis, skin pulsating in time with the beat as the material is rubbing against his sensitive skin. Sam’s close to begging and groveling when Lucifer twists his hand, because he needs this now. 

_Lucifer! Please! Come on! Amen!_

The blond instantly perked up at being called, his name ringing in his skull and it takes him a millisecond to see that it’s Sam who is calling him. They aren’t bonded in the least. There’s no handprint. No sort of marking in the least. But Sam abuses the power of praying to force communicate to Lucifer. Lucifer can’t help but smirk at the idea that Sam’s praying for him to hurry on and fuck him. He can’t help but feel strikingly proud. Tightening his grip on Sam’s length, he gave a few quick strokes, the head of Sam’s arousal pushed out of the confines of the G-string. Lucifer moves his thumb over to swipe the beading liquid leaving it, bringing it to his mouth to suck on. 

Sam already knows what to do, turning onto his stomach and getting on all fours. 

Lucifer sat on his haunches behind Sam who is rather amusing to see on his knees -- this impossibly tall body with his lower half sticking out rather expectantly at him. The Devil takes the time to examine the sight as he’s pulling his own clothes off. 

A cool hand skimmed the back of Sam’s backside, watching him shiver at the difference in temperature, fingers sliding to his tailbone. Rubbing his thumb across the protruding bone, he moved his hand back down to graze across Sam’s backside. Raising his other hand, both hands pushed Sam apart, a soft sound in anticipation whooshing out of Sam’s exhale. The fabric of the G-string proved to be this pathetic barrier between his fingers and the pink puckered hole, weaseling a finger underneath to keep it pulled to the side. 

Sam smells like soap when he leans forward, maneuvering his hands so he can let a thumb rub against the Winchester’s entrance. It contracts before him, hearing an impatient sound from Sam, but Lucifer doesn’t feel obligated or tempted to pick this up. He wanted to pull Sam apart and with the Winchester adorned in lingerie practically bursting from the seams? This was a moment meant to be relished, completely uncertain of what tomorrow may bring in regards to their relationship. Would it be a hodgepodge mixture of hostility and sympathy? Wounded pride? Stubborn silence? Interest in a more substantial form? As silly as it may sound, and seeing that Sam is a being lower than him on the totem pole, he found it rather bizarre that a person would loathe him instead of adore him. Even Michael loved him despite their long-standing feud fought through silence and neglect.    


Lucifer found it perpetually inquisitive, concerning and humorous that Sam Winchester had this drive within him that continued to repel him from his destiny. There’s a mirror image to this in one point of view, but the Devil is in no mood to engage himself in such thoughts. Instead he rather focus on the fact that it appears that Sam went out of his way to clean and prepare himself for this endeavor. Experimentally sticking his index finger partially in, he found Sam still wet and with the barest traces of soap residue on his finger from his past shower. 

“You did this?” the blond finally speaks in a curious drawl, words slow and easy on his tongue. Sam looks as if the muscles on his back are about to break in half from strain, seeing a hot flush make itself known on his neck, the color creeping about. Eventually Sam nods his head, eyes still focused on the comforter underneath them. 

“You were planning to do this the entire day, than?” Sam can’t see the smirk being pulled onto the Devil’s lips, cruel and pleased all at once. Instead the Winchester nods, muscles twitching with a need to shift, but Sam dare not move. Not yet, at least. “So you worked your fingers inside of you thinking of me,” Lucifer remarked rather bluntly, imagining Sam Winchester with a hand pressing against the shower wall for support as he let his bunched fingers thrust into him. All the work he did stretching himself open, doing his best not to close his eyes and think of him. Of what a mess it would be to jerk himself off in the shower with a Dean Winchester who is possibly growing antsier and antsier for the bathroom as time passes. 

Sam only grumbled something unintelligible and rocks back so his backside is pushing towards Lucifer in a demanding manner. The blond can confidently bet that Sam is giving that unamused look of his to the comforter and that only coaxes Lucifer to tauntingly bite the curve of Sam’s backside. Yelping in surprise followed by an instant growl that is relaying to the Devil a higher state of demand and annoyance, the Devil dragged the pad of his tongue across the pinking bite mark. 

Moving his mouth to his right, Lucifer lapped at the Winchester’s entrance, pleased to feel Sam shake and tremble at the action. It’s only when Sam’s arms began to tremble and his upper half of his body sink to the bed does he press the tip of his tongue in. Soap is the first thing that hits Nick’s taste buds. The Winchester makes a heated sound, hips beginning to rock back into the tongue that’s busy prodding and pushing forward. Lucifer pulls on the G-string his finger is still curled around, the fabric pinning the head of Sam’s arousal against his navel tightening. Sam shifts and whines, hips giving a jerky rock, enjoying the feeling of sheer fabric rubbing against sensitive skin along his shaft. 

Lucifer feels rather spoiled with Sam’s actions today. Stretching himself out in the shower beforehand and willingly donning on sheer black polkadot lingerie. 

Thrusting and pressing his tongue as deep as he can, a passing thought flutters across the Devil’s mind; in a matter of seconds Sam releases a guttural groan, body seizing. “ _J-Jesus!_ ” he howled out in surprise, having scrambled away, staring incredulously at what just happened. Lucifer gave a simple smile, moving a finger to rub at his own bottom lip as he licked his teeth. Sam’s ears turned red on the edges when a forked tongued glided across pearly white teeth, Sam trying to figure out if he had it in him to complain and protest. As he’s debating whether to resist that smug face of Lucifer’s, he already lost that battle, hands already grabbing a pillow to situate underneath the small of his back. Sam’s maneuvering his legs so he’s open, fingers even crawling across his backside to pull it open expectantly. 

Lucifer, now, resisted the temptation to shove himself into Sam and brutally pound him away till kingdom come. The Devil is certain if anyone else, human or monster, were lying on the bed with him, he’d do Michael a favor and simply smite himself. It was unsavory and disregarded his views. But this was his Boy King and his one true vessel that was born to bring him to that state of being the Alpha and the Omega. He was less human and more him. He was more of a rule set out by God. And Lucifer’s expertise laid in breaking rules. 

Oh how he wanted to break Sam. 

Pushing the fabric of the lingerie to the side, Lucifer was forced to bend a bit lower to press his tongue inside. Forked tongue moved deep, dragging and running itself across the inner walls, Sam returning to giving those guttural and messy sounds that would burst from his throat whenever Lucifer tongued Sam’s prostate. There’s a chuckle filled with mirth reverberating in the Devil’s chest, blue eyes flicking upward to watch the rising arch of Sam and the restraint he’s putting in not latching a hand onto his blond head. Not digging his fingers into his sun-kissed hair and pressing Lucifer deeper inside. Sam knew his place in this game and it was ‘no one had the right or the authority to pull the control out of Lucifer’s hands.’ It was this unspoken agreement that has created a thin line between this proving to be a pleasant experience and this becoming a psychological and demeaning massacre of the soul.  

At times he’d lounge about by Sam and dare him to be a fool. To take it a step further so he could stick his fingers in Sam’s brain and tear it apart like uncooked meat. Because there’s a sick kick in his being when he hurts something made for him. Like Sam. 

Like Michael...

Pulling himself up, he leaned forward so he could lick Sam’s collarbone, tasting the sweat off his skin. Purposely making sure his pelvis was dragging against Sam’s when he moved, Lucifer busied tasting and marking Sam. The Winchester eagerly pressed upward, a hand moving to touch the Devil’s back, eliciting a sharp intake of air from the blond. Sam continued, fingers riding across the planes of Lucifer’s back, skin sensitive and alive like open wires about the shoulder blades. The Winchester continued in silence, feeling icy air hit the curve of his neck as fingers dipped and traced the left shoulder blade. 

Lucifer remains quiet save for the sound of breathing -- even that’s an abnormality in itself and enough to tell Sam that this is the equivalent to someone crooning and keening. Sam massages the base of the shoulder blade and Lucifer has his head dipped low where it’s practically resting on Sam’s shoulder. His hands are fisted into the comforter, white knuckling the fabric as breaths come out shallow and harsh. Sam wonders what would happen if he kept this up. If he’d get to hear the infamous Lucifer toss his head back in a moan in ecstasy. 

Lucifer might as well have heard the thought because his teeth were soon biting through the fabric of the frayed bra to abuse Sam’s right nipple. That pulls Sam’s hands away instantly, hissing and moving a hand to push at Lucifer’s shoulder. That line of power was crossed, the Devil immovable and brutal with an icy stare, hands finding Sam’s wrists. Sam knows he shouldn’t fight back and that being submissive is the quickest route to Lucifer easing down from his insecure state. It’s what he learned the first time around inside the Cage. Show Lucifer your belly and whatever pain may come is lessened. Sam has no interest in pondering over how unhealthy it is that he’s seeking Lucifer out post-Cage. How he may be going out of his way to find new things to please him. 

Sam has no clue what he’s trying to accomplish and maybe it’s just sex. The pure thrill of having sex with the very angel who could burn the world down with a snap if he wished it. An addict for sociopaths, but that just seemed like a hunter thing. 

But today he’d fight back because Lucifer bore the kaleidoscope expressions of enraged, malicious, hurt and embarrassed. This was the first time he brought attention to Lucifer’s back and _fuck fuck fuck_ \-- Sam can’t even begin to think straight with Lucifer’s fingers shoving themselves into him, spare hand pressing Sam’s wrists together onto the bed. Lucifer is annoyed and blind despite how sharp and focused his actions are and the indifferent mask beginning to fall on his face. Sam fights back, jerking and thrashing not because it’s the smart thing to do but because for some odd reason it felt right. It felt like part of this new script because he breeched a certain level of trust by touching the Devil’s back -- where wings must reside, or perhaps there is none -- and in turn being submissive and apologetic seemed to be a harmful route. Lucifer was doing what Sam did when someone got too close to home in all the wrong ways: close up and become hostile. 

That’s why he had to fight back, because pity makes it worse. 

Sam gives a pained sound at the feeling of being overwhelmingly stretched, Lucifer’s fingers all shoved in with the Devil pushing even further. The brunette can feel skin tear when knuckles are weaseling their way in until his entire fist has settled inside of him. Sam wants to rip his hair out, hissing when he lightly shifted his hips, eyes now a degraded form of a green and hotly staring at the blond between his thighs. The Devil moved what must be his middle finger, the knuckle of the finger pressing hard into his prostate that it leaves him swearing till he’s blue. It becomes a game. Of teasing his prostate, working his fist in and out. It’s impossible not to muffle the noises ripping through his mouth, screaming and hungering for more despite the burning ache of being so impossibly stretched. Sam’s not willing to admit that he enjoys it when the wedding band -- warm despite the cold finger it’s on -- rubs against the walls of his insides. It feels more than wrong to admit. 

The Winchester is straining and full, needing release because pressure continued to be added on and on through Lucifer’s work. It’d be easy to jerk himself off, certain he could pull his wrists out of the blond’s hold. Just thinking about it makes him whine between his moans, becoming a signal for Lucifer to remove his hand out of Sam. Wiggling it out, Sam groaned at the open and empty feeling. Lucifer released his wrists, calmed down from before considerably and that’s a relief to Sam. The fallen angel strokes himself, giving slow and hard pulls, staring down at him with a mixture of danger and serene. Despite how charismatic and charming Lucifer can be, portrayal of emotions was something that reminded Sam that this was a being so devoid of it. It’s all just a nice trick. Sometimes for others and sometimes for himself. Lucifer is staring down at him with eyes softening but yet a hardening expression on his mouth, all sorts of contradictions that, in the end, keep him latched onto Lucifer. 

Caging Sam in with his long figure, he reaches a hand down to guide himself to the torn and sluggishly bleeding entrance. Sam practically sighs in relief. Lucifer slips in with ease, able to push himself fully in and Sam gives a quiet moan. Long fingers rub at the inseam of Sam’s thighs in approval, pulling out to only push back in a steady pace. It’s not as abusive as it was moments ago, a relief to Sam’s well-being. They, too, sunk into an easy rhythm. Sam would moan and Lucifer would show some sign of approval by quickening his pace or rubbing a patch of skin with his thumb.

“Lucifer,” Sam breathed out before pushing himself partially up, hand reaching out to grab his arm, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. Lucifer was forced to work at this change in angle, refusing to do so and simply slipping out of Sam to sit on the bed, yanking the Winchester onto his lap. Mouths are still giving a messy semblance of a kiss, mouths wet against the other. The hunter pulls his mouth away briefly for air before returning, feeling those cold hands settle low on his waist. It’s a lazy battle of tongues, a hand on his hip moving down to the crack of Sam’s backside. 

“Luce,” Sam huffed, pulling his mouth away from the blond, “Let me try again. Please.” Lucifer scowled but remained quiet on the matter. “Please. If I do it wrong, you have every right to make me feel my mistakes,” the Winchester added diplomatically, watching those blond brows furrow. 

“How easy it would be to lie,” Lucifer pointed out tersely, words sharp and cold.

“But you never do.” 

Working his jaw and remaining rather pensive, Lucifer pulls Sam higher on his lap so he can reenter the Winchester as his response. Sam’s moved with ease, feeling the head of Lucifer’s arousal nudge at his entrance before snapping his hips up. Sam groaned low in his throat, wrapping his arms around his neck, letting his fingers rub and massage the skin and muscles. Their mouths are in a consistent state of hovering over the other, foreheads sliding against each other with each upward thrust. It’s an intimate position they’re in, chests touching and Sam’s length pinned by fabric and Lucifer’s torso. Each move is smearing precum across the Devil’s chest and Sam’s navel, Sam giving breathy little moans at the motion. 

Moving his hands to Lucifer’s shoulders, he began to carefully and cautiously rub at them, waiting to feel Lucifer’s jaw latch onto his neck in disapproval. To feel teeth sink into his skin and rip his throat out like a rabid dog. 

None came. Lucifer only responded by pulling Sam closer to him, the wet rhythm and sounds of Lucifer thrusting in and out filling the air. 

Sam lets his fingers drift, never too far and never too eagerly. He works and massages whatever small patch Lucifer approves of, never going too deep for the sake of stimulating a nasty response from the archangel. Sam moves his head so it’s over Lucifer’s shoulder, wanting to see his hands at work, lost in the pushes and circles his fingers were making on cold skin. Lucifer is melting and relaxing under his touch, murmuring something by his ear but Sam can’t make sense of the language being used. Maybe Enochian. Maybe Arabic. Who knew. 

Sam continues on with his ministrations and pushes a bit deep near the right shoulder blade, earning a ragged sound hitting his ear. Sam shoves his surprise elsewhere because he can’t afford to sit about and gawk. The moment may pass. Rubbing at the dip of the shoulder blade, hips stuttered in their rhythm and a sound of approval is given by the Devil. Sam feels the blond arch and press his back against the hunter’s hands encouragingly, giving him the green light. Lucifer is trusting him with this and Sam’s waiting for all of this to crash down around him. 

Lucifer growls something dark in his ear and quickens his pace, Sam having to cling onto the blond because he was brutally hitting his prostate. Sam didn’t even have time to announce he was going to come, instead giving a shout in punched bliss, spilling against his chest and Lucifer’s. Lucifer isn’t stopping, fingers gripping Sam’s backside possessively, blunt nails digging into soft flesh. Sam feels his eyes sting because his prostate feels abused and overstimulated, aching as each thrust is deep and exact. The Winchester struggles to rub and grip Lucifer’s shoulder blades, swearing he heard ‘ _Michael_ ’ leave the older blond’s lips. Sam has no clue what to think of that and he doesn’t have a chance, a hand is slapped over his eyes. 

Light burns brilliantly and Sam makes a strangled sound at the rush of heat, as if he’s too close to the sun. With short jerks of the hips, Lucifer was soon buried hilt-deep, coating Sam’s insides. Sam’s ears are ringing and he feels sore.

Remaining put for a bit, listening to the sound of Sam panting, the Devil eventually pulled out. Moving his hand from Sam’s eyes, his fingers finally reached out to unclasp the bra per request. The Winchester is trembling and back on the bed, laying himself back down. Sam’s dripping and the Devil watches in curiosity. Blinking at the scene and Sam shuddering, Lucifer moves so he can lay beside the Winchester. Sweaty bodies lined up against the other, Lucifer’s chest impeccably still as Sam’s rose and fell quickly, still trying to regain his breath. 

Lying in silence, Sam broke it by finally slipping out of the unclasped bra. Giving a huff in dismay at having to sit up, he wiggled out of the stained and wet G-string, tossing it to his right to be lost in the pile of clothes. Laying back down, Sam glanced at Lucifer with his askew blond locks, fighting off the temptation to just touch him. He got somewhere personal today and it felt wrong not to...do something. Acknowledge it, at least. Sam Winchester -- being Sam Winchester -- wanted to talk about it.

“This was a good idea.” 

Lucifer commented, Sam turning his head to find those pallid blue eyes focused on him. If Sam stared hard enough he could see the speck of light in his irises, the thing that tells Sam that lying beside him is not just a man. The brunette smiles despite himself, raising a hand to push his own hair back, pleased that in the end everything went rather well.

“Wait...” Sam began, turning his body so he’s lying on his side and facing Lucifer. “Is the great Lucifer complimenting me?” he teased, feeling embolden by Lucifer’s approval. He’s giving the Devil a goofy grin and the blond is already answering by cocking a brow and giving him a challenging smirk. 

Turning onto his side, also, he propped his head up with his hand. “Is _my_ vessel giving me attitude?” he inquired, feeling Sam’s legs brush against his before boldly tangling with his own legs. Lucifer should leave because he got what he wanted but here was Sam getting comfortable with him again. It’s been a reoccurring theme and Lucifer notices how called upon he is. How Sam wants to perform tiny gestures that possibly are meaningful such like this. It _is_ a step towards getting Sam to say yes but this story is different than the one before. Before Sam hasn’t lost everything, but now Sam has. Even with Dean back in the picture, Sam acts like he lost his other half -- as if he really didn't get all of Dean back.

“Perhaps,” Sam hums out, cutting through his thoughts. Did he just achieve the role as Sam’s source of comfort? It’s all rather bizarre and unpredictable -- _human_. It’s all human and Lucifer cannot believe what a pain they continue to be. Stupid and pitiful thing, Sam is. Stupidly his. 

He should be annoyed that Sam got too close today, but there was his vessel stretching and yawning with his sweaty limbs smelling like sex and him. Sam’s all his. From every neuron to every atom that composes the hunter. Giving a snort, he tangles their legs even further before reaching out to card his hand through Sam’s hair. “Careful, Winchester. I may just get very attached to you,” he warns. 

Sam simply takes the hand in his hair, pulls it towards his mouth and kisses his palm. Lucifer watches the gesture, blue eyes possessive and bright, a thick sound of approval burning in his chest. It was now Sam’s way of saying that he was solid and real. He was permanent. 

“I think I’ll live.” 

Lucifer will make sure of just that. 

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
